


No Regrets

by SonjaJade



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Cremains, Execution, F/M, Military Stockade, firing squad - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-08
Updated: 2016-02-08
Packaged: 2018-05-19 05:24:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5955283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SonjaJade/pseuds/SonjaJade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The birth of democracy in Amestris is a double edged sword, and Roy wonders at the last moment if it was all worth it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Regrets

**Title:** No Regrets  
 **Author:** Sonja Jade  
 **Series:** Brotherhood  
 **Word Count:** 2,490  
 **Rating:** T  
 **Characters:** Roy, Riza, Madame Christmas, Braeda, Feury, mentions of Falman, Havoc, and Charlie, Original Characters.  
 **Summary:** The birth of democracy in Amestris is a double edged sword, and Roy wonders at the last moment if it was all worth it.  
 **Warnings:** _**Character death**_  
 **Author’s Notes:** Inspired by the song “[ **The Edge**](https://youtu.be/JdUng3K0mxA)” by Týr, particularly the following lyrics: “Led by son of the wolf they're just four blood brothers going over the edge.” “Upon my pages blood is stained, this way some honor will remain, but I caused the death of a child, both you and I know… And let them kill me just the same. I should've lied and played their game.” “No turning back now, no tears at my wake, I'll pay for my vow, just march up the hill 'til we reach the end.” Thanks to [](http://missyquill.livejournal.com/profile)[**missyquill**](http://missyquill.livejournal.com/) for the quick beta.  
 **Prompt:** January- Song inspired fic  
  
  
  
Sunshine was a hot commodity on death row. There was one window at the end of the hall, behind two sets of locked doors made of solid steel bars. At precisely 5:23 pm, the early evening sun would shine down through the dusty glass all the way down to Roy's cell, and he'd scramble to stand in the pool it made in his personal eight foot by six foot space.  
  
Today, he'd be able to go outside, for the last time. He wouldn't get to see that sunny spot again. The warmth he soaked up yesterday from the blinding light would have to hold him over until later this afternoon. He fidgeted with a string on the jumpsuit he'd be executed in, his stomach in knots and his heart aching-  
  
But not for himself. He wasn't the only one going before the firing squad today. If he had managed to get everyone else off with just prison time, he would've gone before the guns with a smile and an easy spirit. When word reached him about the sentences for three of his companions, his heart sank. Charlie, his friend from the war and demolitions expert: sentenced to death. Havoc, who served as a sharpshooter in a different unit in Ishval, and worked under him for many years: sentenced to death. But most heartbreaking of all was Hawkeye, his lovely adjutant who had more verifiable kills to her name than any other sniper in the war, would be executed today as well. It was her death that he regretted the most. Riza had been a casualty he'd never expected to have to account for. As it turned out, all the sharpshooters who had more than twenty five verified kills were sentenced to death. But if he'd never joined the army in the first place, she wouldn't have ever followed him there. The thought that she was being executed for his choices made him sick to his stomach.  
  
A clock ticked loudly from the opposite side of the hall from the window. Roy thought back to the visit with Madame Christmas two days ago. The warden sat her in a folding chair just outside his cell. She hissed at that damn clock, told Roy she would've shot the thing off the wall but they took her derringer pistol when they trotted her through security.  
  
He'd never seen her cry before and wasn't prepared for her tears when they came, no matter how briefly they fell. They talked about what he wanted done with his remains, what needed to happen to Riza's (she had no family and they decided long before now that they would be buried together). They talked about financial arrangements and property deeds, who to contact after his death and who not to. And then he watched her composure slip away as tears flowed from her painted eyes, and he couldn’t do a damn thing about it. He held her hands, watching her dress become spotted with teardrops until her time was up. The warden pried their fingers apart and Madame decided to sink to her bottom, forcing the officer to call for help to drag her away. Afterward, Roy cried as he sat in the sunshine.  
  
The day after that, his old team had come to say goodbye. Falman couldn't look him in the eye and Fuery couldn't stop scrubbing his eyes with the back of his hands. Braeda said some prayers with him, saying even if he didn't believe, it couldn't hurt to have the words fresh in his head, just in case there was something on the other side. But he also gave him a gift.  
  
“Regardless of the ruling, you're forgiven.”  
  
There was a piece of paper from one of the Ishvalans he'd seen at his trial. The man had asked on behalf of his people not to execute anyone, as enough blood had been spilled, enough families broken and hurt because of the orders Führer Bradley had given. The judges weren't deaf to his pleas, only repeating to the entire courtroom that they were following the laws concerning war crimes.  
  
The paper Braeda brought him was an Ishvalan prayer, written out in poetic Amestrian, with a note that read, 'May you find peace at last in death.'  
  
Today, Roy was tired of praying. He was tired of meaningless words and useless gestures. He wanted to break the yoke on his wrists, blow the prison apart and rescue every inmate sentenced during the military hearings. He'd been working on scratching a transmutation circle on the front of the block of wood with a fork during meals, but during a cell change, one of the wardens noticed it and had it replaced with a titanium yoke. The only way he was going to get out of it now was when the manacle was temporarily opened to secure him to the fat wooden pole he would be executed in front of.  
  
He heard several sets of footsteps coming his way and his heart began to race. This was it…  
  
The people stopped in front of his barred room and keys could be heard. The door swung open and two officers entered, looping their arms into his as the warden and a preacher also entered.  
  
“Do you wish to have a private counsel with the vicar?” the warden asked.  
  
Roy stared at the floor and murmured, “No.”  
  
“Then we're taking you to the Bowl.”  
  
Roy nodded and let the MPs lead him from the cell that had been his home for the past three weeks.  
  
The Bowl was an outdoor area shaped like a tiny amphitheater. The curved side would be lined with marksmen, as many as twenty if need be, with a quarter of them carrying guns loaded with blanks. There was a thick wooden pole in the middle of the flat side, where a prisoner was secured, and on the order of the warden, the men would all fire simultaneously, causing near instant death. As Roy walked his last steps, he heard the unmistakable sound of rifles firing all at once…  
  
“May God have mercy on his soul,” the warden said, his head bowed for a moment.  
  
“Who was it?” Roy asked when the man's head came back up.  
  
“Jean Havoc.”  
  
Roy's stomach clenched painfully and he swallowed. “Mercy,” he whispered. He tried to not think about the blond being full of holes and sinking lifelessly to the ground, but his brain conjured up the images anyway.  
  
“For what it's worth, Mustang,” the warden said gently, “I think you guys got fucked.” They turned a final corner, almost there now. “But I'm just doing my job, too. It's nothing personal, I hope you understand...”  
  
“Your sarcasm needs work, Mr. Bridges,” Roy said, grateful for the distraction. Maybe that's why the man had said it in the first place.  
  
“I'm serious. My brother was on trial, too. If he'd been a better shot, he'd be right here with you guys. You guys were used like pawns and now you're paying for someone else's crime. You got fucked, all of you.”  
  
Roy listened as another round of shots went off and he asked the guards leading him if they could stop for a moment. Mr. Bridges asked his God for mercy on Charlie's soul as well and Roy wasn't sure he had the strength to put one foot in front of the other anymore.  
  
The warden turned toward him. “Listen, I know it's not much solace this late in the game, but I managed to pull some strings at the request of Havoc and your old unit. But I'd rather not have to take you to her by force.”  
  
Roy looked up, eyes shining. He was going to be executed _with_ Riza. The thought of being by her side as they both made their exit was somehow comforting. He took a deep breath and straightened.  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
Bridges shook his head as he patted his shoulder. “Like I said, you guys got fucked. All I can do is try to soothe the pain as best I can.”  
  
The end of the corridor was only a few feet ahead. They exited into the sunshine and made a hard right into the Bowl, where Riza stood with her hair down, grown out some from shorter style she'd returned to after the Promised Day. She was standing calmly, looking up at the sky, her cuffed hands clasped as if she were merely waiting in line at the corner market. When she caught sight of him, she offered him a smile that made his eyes water.  
  
A female officer took her arm and guided her toward the pole, and when they were within touching distance, his yoke was removed and they were cuffed to each other, opposite hands together and the pole between them.  
  
“I'm not even dead yet and I've already seen an angel,” Roy said with a grin.  
  
Riza closed her eyes and laughed nervously. “You've always had the worst pickup lines.”  
  
“I never got to use them on you,” he said as a tear slipped down the side of his nose and off his lip.  
  
“You didn't need to, I was yours from the beginning.”  
  
His fingers laced with hers and he craned his body toward her, trying to get close enough to touch his forehead to hers. Without a word, one of the MPs went around to the back of the pole, drew a chalk circle, and transmuted the chain on the handcuffs binding them together so that they had several extra inches. Though that damned pole stood between them, his lips finally reached her, her scent filled his nose, and their hands squeezed one another.  
  
“Riza, I'm so sorry.”  
  
She kissed him tenderly. “I made my own choice. It was never your fault. And look at what we accomplished together.” She reminded him that they knew what could happen if they returned Amestris to democratic rule. “I have no regrets.”  
  
Bridges approached them. “You've got about five minutes.”  
  
Roy wanted to say so much to her, tell her everything he'd ever wanted to say and then some, but his mind went blank. He closed his eyes and cursed himself for forgetting it all, and with no second chances. He could almost hear that stupid clock back in his cell block reminding him it was almost over.  
  
“I, Riza, take you Roy, to be my lawfully wedded husband.”  
  
He swallowed. “Riza...”  
  
“For richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, for as long as we both shall live, and even beyond that.” He could see her bottom lip quivering as she said the honored words.  
  
He rested his forehead against her, took a deep breath, and replied, “And I, Roy, take you- my beautiful, brave and amazing Riza, to be my lawfully wedded wife. For richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, from this day until the end of time.”  
  
He leaned forward and kissed her, feeling the sun on his back for the last time and trying to soak up everything about the moment, trying to convince himself that if history had taken another course, he'd still be kissing Riza in the sun, still joining his life to hers.  
  
Unfortunately, his illusion was shattered when the warden quietly asked them if either one wanted a blindfold or a cigarette. They said no to both, and Roy knew they were out of time. He tried to ignore the sound of twenty rifles being loaded and focused on the color of Riza's eyes.  
  
“If there's something after this,” he murmured, his lips against her skin, “we'll find each other. We'll start over, and this time we'll make better decisions.” He felt as Riza began to tremble.  
  
“I love you with all my heart, Roy...”  
  
Bridges' voice cut through the air. “On the fifth of June, 1918, a military tribunal found Col. Riza Hawkeye and Gen. Roy Mustang guilty of war crimes during the Ishvalan Conflict of 1908. They have been tried justly in accordance to Amestrian military law, and have been sentenced fairly to death by firing squad. All appeals have been exhausted and their sentence will be carried out as outlined in our country's constitution.” The warden gave the order for the riflemen to take their marks and Roy smiled at Riza.  
  
“You are the best thing that ever happened to me, and I can't even tell you how much you mean to me.” They were aiming now... “I love you so much-”  
  
“FIRE!”  
  
He watched her eyes as it happened. They both jumped at the sound, her gaze widening in fear. And then they slowly slipped closed, and she began to slide downward. Then Roy realized he was sliding with her, his legs numb and his head spinning with blood loss. The world grew dark and the burning in his side, stomach and back started fading…  
  
And then it was over.

* * *

  
Chris Mustang knocked on the door of the mortuary director's office. A middle-aged graying man opened it and invited her in.  
  
“Everything's been taken care of as we discussed,” he said kindly as he ushered her to a tufted chair. “I have the urn right here.” He opened an armoire and took out a strange looking memorial container.  
  
It was a marble topped chess board done up in shades of brown and cream, one that had two drawers and could be sat on a larger table. A gleaming gold king and queen were permanently attached off to the side of the playing field, watching whatever game may take place. The ashes of Roy and Riza were sealed inside the lower larger drawer, resting eternally together, but still a functional part of the world. Chris smiled at the urn.  
  
“It's beautiful,” she commented.  
  
“It comes with a full set of pieces in beige and brown marble,” he said as he pulled the smaller drawer open. The man offered to place it into a box and carry it to a cab for her. She waved him off, thanking him again for all his help before taking the urn outside.  
  
“Let me get that, Madame,” Capt. Braeda insisted. “You get settled and I'll give 'em back to you.”  
  
She thanked him and slid across the front seat, Falman and Feury in the back of the car and looking anxiously at the urn Braeda held.  
  
Braeda smiled sadly. “This is exactly the kind of thing they would want. Roy loved chess and Riza loved practicality.”  
  
“I can't believe they fit two full grown humans in that box,” Feury said quietly. When Falman started giving them a lesson on the intricacies of cremation, the bespectacled man elbowed him in the ribs and he blessedly shut up.  
  
Braeda carefully placed the urn in Chris' lap and she patted the checkered top.  
  
“You haven't sat in my lap in years, Roy-boy,” she said, grinning. “Let's get you kids home where you belong.”


End file.
